


If I can stop one heart from breaking

by middlemarch



Category: A Discovery of Witches (TV), All Souls Trilogy - Deborah Harkness
Genre: Academics, Anatomy, Conversation, Dualities, F/M, Poetry, Romance, Science, Spells & Enchantments, Vampires, Witches, a logical question about blood, scientists - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-09-23 16:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20342965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/middlemarch/pseuds/middlemarch
Summary: Her research had not been productive, not yet. Consultation was indicated.





	If I can stop one heart from breaking

“It can’t be the vena cava,” Diana said, her finger tracing the elaborate Gothic script in the text Marthe had given her without any begging. She had wished, briefly, exceedingly, that Marthe ran the Bodleian and controlled access to Ashmole 782. She hadn’t been trying to have a conversation with Matthew, though he was reclining on their bed, very artistically. She loved him beyond all measure, but she sometimes suspected he was a bit dramatic and had an unerring sense of how to show himself to advantage. The sheet was always draped perfectly and the firelight played across his cheekbones as if Vermeer painted him. 

“What can’t be the vena cava?” he asked.

“The heart-vein. The one vampires always want to drink from the most, like it’s a spigot of ambrosia. Or a Slurpee dispenser to a bunch of potheads with the munchies,” she said. Matthew choked on his laughter or coughed, she wasn’t quite sure. She also wasn’t sure what the hell the heart-vein was, despite repeated readings of the leather-bound book Marthe had given her.

“Diana!” he exclaimed. He rarely used obscenities. Perhaps he’d outgrown them in fifteen hundred years? She heard the _Holy fuck!_ embedded in her name or maybe it was really _putain_. He hadn’t said it aloud but she’d heard it anyway.

“What? It’s not the vena cava, that’s too deep. And too big, you’d exsanguinate too quickly. But heart-vein, that’s not a thing, Matthew. You have to admit that, you’re a scientist. Aren’t you?”

“I am,” he said.

“So? What does it mean? I think it’s just poetic nonsense, from creatures who don’t write poetry—and don’t say you do, because I haven’t read one poem by a vampire that wasn’t crap or plagiarized,” Diana said. “Seriously, we can all cross-check Wilde and Baudelaire.”

“It’s whatever it needs to be, in that moment. Blood flows, hearts beat,” Matthew said, sounding dreamy. And then aroused, his voice getting lower, his eyes smoky. “It’s whatever is called for, the anatomy configures itself to the moment. The need.”

Diana felt very warm, her skin sensitive to the subtle currents in the air that Matthew’s breath made. She felt his desire for her upon her and within, her answering longing in her willful hands, her hips, the soles of her bare feet on the stone floor. She wanted. And she thought of what he said, his explanation.

“Bullshit. That’s bullshit, Matthew, and you know it. Part of you must. Do you stop being a scientist because of your hunger?”

“Sometimes,” he said. It wasn’t a challenge, it was an admission. “When you called for Ashmole 782, were you an historian or a witch?”

“I don’t know,” she said slowly. She shrugged, felt her loosened hair on her shoulders, the weight of it. Matthew made a small cry and was beside her, his hands on her before she could blink.

“Do you have other questions for me, _mon coeur_?” She looked at his eyes, at his parted lips, weighed the chances of ecstasy and truth. She considered whether Matthew would, whether Matthew could give her an answer to her next question. Or whether Marthe, a woman before she’d become a vampire, would be a better choice. She intended to marry Matthew, whenever he decided their mating merited betrothal, but she could not trust he would say what her bleeding meant to him. To them. And if she defied his mother, if she conceived—what then? Ysabeau might know, but she wouldn’t want to ask her. Marthe, Marthe would look at her and finish her goblet of wine and smile before she spoke. 

“Will you kiss me now? How long do you mean to make me wait?” Diana said to Matthew. His lips were on hers in an instant, his hand against her breast where her heart thudded. She heard the anguished, eager moan he made, was sure she knew what he imagined: his mouth on hers, at her breast, drinking her up, his thirst immense, adoring, endless. There was a spell she must cast to keep them both alive, separate and one, creatures and souls. 

She only had to create it.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, it's clear I'm not down with "heart-veins." And I think any woman of child-bearing years would have some questions about how it's going to work at that time of the month. Will Matthew go berserk? Is some blood "special?" I'd give Matthew a pass EXCEPT he's supposed to be a biochemist and geneticist. At least part of the time.
> 
> The title is from Emily Dickinson.


End file.
